For old threads, look here! http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Dead%20Gods%20QuestNOTE THAT QUEST 22 WAS NOT ARCHIVED, IT CAN BE DOWNLOADED HERE: http://www.mediafire.com/download/7g6zn4rhzwnaw5e/22.zipFor updates, check twitter! @Someone_else___

Elsa's Character Sheet! http://pastebin.com/ezsJzAWG

Resident artist: Eversor_This is Tarsh, the world of Dead Gods. On Tarsh, the Pantheon is stretched to the breaking point by the deaths of all but three of its dozens of members, with the remaining members largely serving advisory roles when they appear to mortals at all.

In this quest, you assume the life of Elsa Ledren, a young Sergeant in the Skirmishers of the Auxiliaries, the support forces of the Royal Army of Cender. You were on a long-term assignment’s first leg when you were attacked and killed in the forest. Your divine Pantheon member, Asa, brought you back to life with a mission: track down and kill the people responsible for trafficking the ancient magic weapon that killed you and your men. You discovered a large conspiracy to traffic and use these ancient weapons, and have been stealthily – or not – killing them off. In previous threads, you knocked off twelve of the conspirators, and now there’s only their leader left alive.

In the origins of the world, there were fourteen gods, and each created a race in their image. Yours, the elves, were created by Mai’te, who then created two demigods, a man and a woman, to liaise with the people, and also created the Heralds. These were normal mortals endowed with some of the powers of the demigods, and able to telepathically communicate with Mai'te, her children, the demons, and each other.

A cataclysmic war, referred to hereafter as the Collapse, erupted about one thousand years into creation, and all but three demigods, all but two races, and all the gods died off. The tattered remnants of the world held together through the power of the three surviving demigods, including yours; the female demigod of the elves, named Asa. Three huge alchemic weather machines keep the world habitable, while the demigods have dispensed with the use of Heralds in favor of Avatars: physical projections of themselves that can walk and talk like people.

The afterlife was dismantled in the wake of the Collapse, and now, all souls are simply ‘inverted’ in the seas of Chaos outside reality after death, and absorbed by their corresponding demigod.

You were assigned by your King to track down a gang of bandits that had sided with the secessionists in the southlands, but were ambushed and nearly murdered by the conspiracy and their ancient weapon, the Orb of the Feathered Demon. Because the weapon can kill demigods, the Pantheon survivors made you a Herald in secret, and have charged you with killing the ten conspirators who survived the battle in the woods.

Previously, you rescued Kerin, an elf demon, and restored him to power. Now, you’re planning the final attack on the conspiracy leader, Don Kotrick. You’re in the town of Hafdal now, preparing for the final battle.

The morning sun finds you and Paladin Alan Dervich meditating. The coming conflict promises to be tense. The least you should be is well-rested.

The winter winds through the cracked window tug at your eartips as you finish and rise from the floor of the master bedroom in your guest house. Dervich had wandered in a few hours back, restless, and you agreed to show him the stances and techniques of meditation to help him focus.

Alan groans as he rises. “Such a weird feeling.”

“It is, but you get used to it quickly.” You clap him on the shoulder as he pulls on a cloak. “Trust me, it’s worth it.”

“I do trust you,” he says quietly. He sighs as you pull your own cloak on. “All right. Time to get started.”

>You agreed to meet your allies at the mining office in two hours. Do you want to do anything else first?>Check out the local enchanters’, if there is one>See if there are any local mercenaries you can hire>Send a letter (to whom?)>writein

I am sending this letter to you, in the case that I don't make it today. Asa will have told you by now, but I'd like you to have my one last word on the matter to hold for as long as you have breath.

I want you to be happy. I can't be there with you anymore, but I still want you to be happy, no matter what that means. Remarry, have children. I know you've always wanted them, and my job so far has not permitted me to give you children yet. Love them, and your new wife, whomever that may be. She will be lucky to have you, as was I. You will make a wonderful father someday. You already have experience being a wonderful husband.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you for now and forever.

I love you.Elsa

>instructions to the mayor: Have this delivered to Jerome in the case of my death.

You pause on the steps of the guest house behind the manor. Past the larger structure’s walls, you see the bustling little village going about its winter business. The village lies beside the ancient highway, where its businesses can work and trade, and the postmen can carry their loads from town to town quickly.

Now there’s a thought. You died twice already here. Will life give you a fourth chance? You look down at your booted feet in the snow and sigh. You owe your family this much.

“Hey, can you go get some breakfast going for us?” you ask Alan quietly. “I need to write a letter.”

He looks back over his shoulder at you and blinks. “Uh… yes, ma’am.” He takes off back into the house as you slowly walk towards the village.

You make yoru way through the buildings and streets until you find the postman’s little office. You wander in and sit down in the tiny chair beside the counter, thinking.

The smell of hot tea makes your nose wrinkle. “Hello, hello, I’ll be right there,” the postman, a stout little human man with lots of grey hair in a ruffle on his head, says from behind the counter. “Caught me at breakfast.”

“Take your time,” you tell him. “I need to compose this.”

“Certainly. Where’s it going?” he asks, looking up from his little cooking fire in the back.

“Home. Clen. My husband,” you say softly.

“I see.” He looks at your brand as you straighten up and makes a soft ‘oh’ sound. “Lady Ledren, an honor,” he says reverently, tea forgotten.

“Thank you.” You grab a piece of paper from the table and a quill from the pot, and start writing.

You scratch it out and start over. Asa will tell him before this reaches him.

-My love, I want you to have this letter.

You scratch it out. Obviously you want him to have it, why else would you send it to him?

You lean back in your seat and rub your eyes, trying to think. The postman looks up at you. but says nothing.

Finally, after sitting still for a minute or two, just marshalling your thoughts, you flip the paper and start over.

-Dear Jerome,

-I love you. Know that above all else.

-I am sending this letter to you, in the case that I don't make it today. Asa will have told you by now, but I'd like you to have my one last word on the matter to hold for as long as you have breath.-I want you to be happy. I can't be there with you anymore, but I still want you to be happy, no matter what that means. Remarry, have children. I know you've always wanted them, and my job so far has not permitted me to give you children yet. Love them, and your new wife, whomever that may be. She will be lucky to have you, as was I. You will make a wonderful father someday. You already have experience being a wonderful husband.

“May I have the street address to which I should send this?” the postman asks when you slowly raise yourself up from the chair.

“No,” you say dully. “This is a worst-case scenario letter, you know? Just bill me the postage and I’ll have it sent if I don’t come back from this.”

He looks somber as he nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

A few coins and tears lighter, you emerge from the post office, rubbing your eyes again. In the streets beyond, you see an entire formation of Guard troops, double-timing by on the snowy road, bellowing out a cadence you could repeat with your ears plugged. The Major, Godwyn, is clearly gearing up.

Not a bad idea. You wait for the formation to pass and fall in behind, jogging at their rear in silence. A few soldiers cast you startled looks, but none of them complain. If anything, they look overawed. You keep on their trail all the way to the manor, where the Baron is marshalling his forces. You slow to a trot behind the formation as it comes to rest. “Lady Ledren! Thanks for being here,” a soldier whispers as you trot past him.

You wink and shoot him a nod as you go on by. No harm in boosting morale.

Godwyne himself appears at the door of the manor as you arrive. “Ah, Herald, good,” he rasps. “You’re here early. We were going to have a quick review before I go to the mine.”

“Thanks. Are there any mercenary assets in town I could hire?” you ask. “Every extra set of hands, and all that.”

He ponders. “None Mavos hasn’t already hired to watch the town while the real soldiers do the fighting,” he says slowly.

“Ah. Thanks anyway,” you tell him. “Then I’ll go get some food and meet you at the mining office.”

“As you wish, Herald,” he says, bowing shortly.

You walk back to the guest house and enter to the delightful smell of crispy bacon and frying tomatoes, a classic Cenderian breakfast. Dervich is puttering about in the kitchen and flipping some eggs as you pause at the door. “Hey, that’s a good meal, right there,” you say, chuckling. “Nice.”

“Cooking is a skill I’ve honed over many years of battle,” Dervich says airily. “Eat.”

“Thanks.” You sit down and accept the eggs as he flips some onto your plate. “You want a chance to write anybody before we go, too?”

He shrugs. “Nobody to tell. Vier already said she wouldn’t bend the rules to get in touch with my sister more than once.”

“How did that resolve?” you ask as he finishes the tomatoes and shovels half into a bowl for you.

He grins. “She’s great. Got bumped up to Senior Seaman’s Mate after acing her exams.”

“Hey, cool.” You sip some tea as he finishes the bacon and drops it on your plates. “I just wanted to write a farewell to Jerome,” you admit, not really knowing why you’re doing so. “He’s had to see me die twice now, you know?”

“I do,” Dervich says heavily. “It was the right thing to do.”

Sudden yells outside distract you. You look out through the window to see the Major bawling his lungs out at his troops. Every few muffled sentences, the troops shout something back at him, in a co-ordinated reply.

>They’re probably just drilling, they don’t need me hovering around to make them nervous>Go see what’s going on

>Anything you want to talk about with Alan or Asa while you finish eating?Let Asa know about the letter, but have her let it be delivered normally. Let her know that regardless of how this turns out, it has been an honor serving her. After whatever conversation there,>move on to the office and start planning

You sit back down at the table and pick at your food as you think. Alan’s clearly ready for this. Whatever doubts he had are gone, you suspect. Between your meditations this morning and seeing the Major in full form moments ago, he’s fine.

Is Asa?

She hasn’t sent mortals into battle in so long, and the last time she did, a bare year ago in Strevain, everything nearly went tits-up. You tap the Gem and think.

{Sister?}

[Yes?]

{I’ve written Jerome a letter in case this all goes wrong. I want you to know about it, but let it be mailed normally, please.}

[But I shouldn’t contact him?]

{You should, but I want my own words to reach him too.}

[Of course.]

{Do you feel ready for this?}

[As much as I can be. I seriously doubt I’ll be there at the kill, but I stand able to help in any other way.]

{I meant that I wanted you to be… well, ready. To send mortals into battle.}

[I am. Especially you; I’ve grown confident in your skills.]

{Thanks.} You take a deep breath before pushing on. {It’s been an honor, sister.}

[Oh… Elsa, it’s not time for farewells just yet, I think,] she says gently. [Even if you fall, we can take as much time in the Cage as you like to say goodbye. Just focus your mind to the task.]

When you two divine soldiers are done, you both clean up and walk out in silence. It’s time to work.

The mining office is a brief jog, and it’s mayhem inside. Alchemists and Mages rub shoulders with professional glowers, Mercenaries and Guards talk shop and compare weapons, and three Sisters speak softly in the corner about battle underground.

>Speak to somebody individually before you get to the hard stuff (Mage Toller? The unnamed reps of the Mercenaries and Alchemists? Godwyne? Cassandra? Baron Mavos?)>”I call this meeting to order.”>writein

You angle right for the Alchemists as Alan goes looking for a place to hang your cloaks. “Pardon me,” you say quietly as you reach their sides.

A pair of Alchemists look over at you and bow at once. It’s actually really nice that so many people either knew what your brand and Gem meant after the King’s messages went out, or knew already and had their respect all stored up for you. “Lady Ledren, we’re at your disposal,” one Alchemist says. She’s an elderly wilderness elf woman, while the other is a burly young human man with a bit of a belly on him and short, curly hair like Asa’s. “I am Researcher Vein-finder, and this is my apprentice, researcher Clendenin. Before you ask, we have the gas ready.”

You nod. “Excellent. We attack tomorrow. How much can you fill? The ventilation systems, the halls?”

“We have more than enough to saturate an area of approximately one hundred feet by one hundred feet by four feet,” Clendenin says at once. “In layman’s terms, we can flood more or less any hall, vent, chamber, or shaft in that mine, except the grand shaft down the middle and possibly the sorting room. The problem is getting it there, and releasing it without putting the user to sleep.”

>”Either of you know how to fight?”>”Can you make more gas here, on site?”>”What’s your delivery system?”>”Nice.” (go talk to somebody else)>writein

“Interesting. Does it get through masks?” you ask, looking curiously at them. “And where is it?”

“In a phial in my room at the inn,” Vein-finder reports. “And if you mean the good, crystal stuff, the Shadow gear and the like… or maybe the imitations that the miners use, no. That will keep it out. The cheap stuff, the sealant glop the emergency crews use sometimes… no, I suspect it will get through there, but it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

“I’ll find some masks,” you say vaguely, though of course you have one. “Thanks.” You turn to face the larger room and raise your voice. “I call this meeting to order.”

Conversation melts away as the words echo across the crowded office. It’s just barely large enough to accommodate everybody. There’s Cassandra, Gannet, Donali, both Alchemists, both Legionnaires, Major Godwyne, Baron Mavos, a Mercenary you don’t know, Toller, you, Alan, and a man in merchant clothing, whom you assume to be the mine owner.

“Thank you all for coming, some far and some with difficulty, on such short notice,” you say loudly, pushing the rest of the noise away. “We’re here for two reasons: purging that mine of all hostiles and rescuing those hostages. Anybody have a map of the place?”

“I do,” the merchant says. “I’m Commissioner Calver, ma’am, the representative of MacGrudder Excavations. I own the mine.”

“Indeed, sir? You have my sympathy,” you tell him. “This must be hard for you.”

He slowly shakes his head. “It’s a nightmare. Those are my friends down there.”

“Then help us get them out,” you say firmly. “Do you have a map?”

“I do,” he says, spreading it over a table in the middle of the room. “Here.”

The map shows the mine office a few hundred yards from the nearest mouth of the mine, where Godwyne’s men are posted, for the most part. There are seven entrances, but two are just for ventilation and clearly too small to traverse. The other five are more or less equi-distant, but one is blocked off with red lines. “All right… so how deep are these shafts?” you ask.

“The deepest, central one is about a hundred meters down, but it swings lower to follow the veins in places,” Calver says. “The main mess is on the second level down.”

You look at the map, trying to piece it out. You’re a plains fighter and a city girl with wilderness elf instincts. This is beyond you. “Uh… okay, and where do I see that?” you ask.

He helpfully lays out a second map, and you wince. The main gallery is a huge circle, bored deep down into the stone, and the mess sort of spills off of one side into a corridor. It’s far smaller than what Clendenin said the gas would fill, but with an open side, you don’t know how effective it will be. On the plus side, the vents run all over the room, and the entire mine is honeycombed with them.

>Any details you want on the mine?>Ventilation pipe widths>Locations of key chambers>etc

You stare at the map, musing. “How wide are the ventilation pipes inside the mine proper?” you ask.

“They broaden in places to improve air circulation,” Calver points out. “They’re narrow at the mouths, but the pipes are filled with air by magic filters at points below. They propel the air around, usually in pipes about four feet wide.”

“And where are the key rooms?” you ask.

“Well… there’s the main gallery, which is how we got everybody around,” Calver says. “Then there’s the lifts, in the center of the gallery. Giant pulleys with counterweights of solid lead. They can be operated from the top or bottom of the gallery. The access tunnels all open up into the gallery itself, and we get the ore out through the main entrance, here,” he says, pointing at the one near you. “We had a company healer, and he had an assistant, and they worked out of here,” he says, pointing at a small room on the third floor down from the top. “The mess, where the hostages are, is here, on the second floor,” he says, this time indicating a huge chamber.

“Anything else we should see on our way in?” you ask.

“Well… we had a security office, but it was hardly worthy of the title,” he says doubtfully. “Here, on the top level, by the entrance farthest from where we are. It was just to prevent people walking out with my tools.”

I'd say shut down the ventilation systems. Stop up the shafts to them. Then stealthily take out the guards at one entrance before they have a chance to sound the alarm. Sneak into the mine, taking out any guards asking the way, until you get to the main chamber where most of the mercs are. Toss the phial of gas like a grenade into the largest group of men and run into any that don't get dosed.

That, or if it's a vertical ventilation shaft, we pull the Anon's Favorite Trick.

“How long would the air in there be breathable if we shut down the ventilation system completely?” you ask pensively.

The merchant looks unhappily at the map. “I’d say… probably two hours. With three entrances still open, there would be some air circulation still.”

“Think we can evacuate the hostages that quickly?” you ask.

“Absolutely,” Godwyne says firmly. “With a numerical advantage like ours, we could carry them out in that time if they were asleep.”

“What are you proposing, Herald?” Mavos asks carefully.

“What I propose is that we shut off the ventilation system completely,” you say, pointing at the two vent openings, “then kill the guards at one entrance and slip in stealthily. We keep moving, quietly, picking them off so they can’t raise the alarm, then, when we reach the hostages, we storm the place with everything we have and toss the gas into the place where they’re sleeping. We get the hostages out, then send in the troops and get to the knife work.”

You look around the room and don’t see anybody else raising their hands. “All right, any suggestions?” you ask the group.

“I have one,” one of the Mercenaries says. “The hostages may be trapped, right? They might be sitting on wires or something?”

“I kind of doubt it, but I can’t rule it out,” Calver says uncomfortably. The Merchant looks down at the map again. “I don’t know what they’re willing to do if things go wrong for them. Moreso, anyway.”

“We can assume they’re going to do something stupid if we show up too early,” you tell them grimly.

It’s a bit interesting that the military types don’t seem to object to a Sister telling them how to plan, but maybe her experience or your status is quieting their complaints. Either way, she’s right. “So the first task is plugging the ventilation intakes,” you say. “Anybody here know how to do that quietly?”

Curtis clears his throat. “I know where they are, my Lady. We have them mapped at the garrison so the horses don’t step in them and lose a leg when we’re off doing drills.”

“I have them marked on my own maps as well,” Calver helpfully puts in. “The intakes look like little chimneys, with iron bars across them to keep out birds. They stick about two feet up from the ground.”

“I can fashion some boards we can drop over them to block them off,” Clendenin volunteers. “Then we can just remove them when it’s time.”

“Good. The barricade guards then,” you say next. “What sort of defense does the enemy have at the tunnel mouths?”

The soldiery look around. “Well, there’s always at least six men at the main entrance and five at the other two they haven’t collapsed,” Mavos says as the others compare notes. “So if you want to finish them off there and move in, we’ll need archers. Lots of them.”

“Then inside… Sir Curtis, you and the Army troops would be unsuitable for stealthy movement, I fear,” you say politely. “Is there anybody besides me and Sister Cassandra who excel at stealth?”

The lack of reply makes your heart sink. “Well… speed is a good substitute for stealth,” Godwyne says to fill the silence. “As long as we move quickly, we can force the enemy to react individually instead of together.”

“So, if nobody has any other plans…?” you ask.

>Any final suggestions, or do we commit to the plan as presented?>writein

Nobody raises any comments. “Simplest plans work best,” you deadpan, which at least earns you a few wan smiles. “All right. It’s time to get everything in place. Researcher Clendenin, if you would be so kind as to get those blocks ready?”

“I’ll get on it. When am I putting them in place?” he asks as he stands.

“All of my efforts to co-ordinate my allies involved a timetable of attack tomorrow morning,” you tell the room. “The last few Mages and Mercenaries will arrive tonight. We shall work to breach the place then, preferably a few minutes after the enemy has a shift change at the guard posts. Until then,” you add, pointing at the map, “I want everybody who’s going in with me to study that map. Study it carefully, so that we aren’t getting in each other’s ways tomorrow.”

And with that, you all rise. The group breaks up into clusters, some studying the map, some heading out to the barricades to see what they look like, and the Alchemists hurrying off to find a place to cut wood.

>Stay here and talk to Mavos>Try to get the Mercenary contingent ready>Take inventory of the Mages and other specialists>Go meditate some more>Scope out the entrances yourself>Go gather some recon with Cassandra>writein

You wander up behind Toller and wait for her to finish talking with her associate before speaking up. “Excuse me, Journeyman Toller. Do you have an up-to-date listing of what skillsets your Mages may have?”

She looks over at you and nods once. “I do. We have two healers, a Current specialist, and an Earth specialist.” That’s not bad, actually. The healers are always welcome, and the other two are good in a fight. “Is that including the Army medics?”

“No, but they don’t really have much magic,” Toller says. “They’re battlefield surgeons, not healer mages.”

“Ah.” You rest a fingertip on your lip and think. “So… I would think it best if you hung back at first, at least until we have the hostages secured.”

“I’m more worried about what this gas will do, frankly,” Toller says uncertainly. “Is it just sleeping gas?”

“That’s what I ordered,” you confirm.

“Then I suppose you’re right,” she says with well-hidden relief. “As for the combat specialists?”

“They’ll be in as soon as they can be,” you tell her. “That kind of firepower is too useful to pass up.”

She nods again, this time looking more pensive than uncertain. “And… what about the other entrances? No magic support there?”

“We can’t really dilute it,” you say with a shrug. “Do you have more people coming?”

The older woman looks out the window into the morning glare. “Well… I honestly don’t know. Possibly.”

There’s nothing more to be gained here, you sense. “All right. We’ll just have to wait and see,” you tell her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Outside, Alan falls in behind you as you walk towards the barricade. As you approach the mine entrance, you can see a scattering of spent ammunition on the ground, and a few spots of blood on the snow. The road leading from the office to the mine tunnel is broad and well-traveled, with thick ruts in the mud, and stones polished by constant use.

The barricade is actually two structures, you note. The first is a five-foot-tall wall of wood and rubble across the road, well back from the entrance, with a scattering of friendly Guard troops crouched behind it. The inner structure is a row of cinderblocks about three feet high inside the entrance itself, and you can see the outlines of a few haggard faces behind it, squinting out into the sunlight.

The chief Guard present, a fresh-faced Lieutenant, salutes as you walk up. “Herald, welcome aboard. You come to review?”

“I have,” you confirm, crouching beside him. “How’s things here?”

“We have plenty of arrows and bullets, but we’re low on javelins, and we can’t really get close enough for grenades,” he says, pointing at a small stockpile of ammo. “That sling you’ve got could be useful tomorrow.”

“I bet. How many have you neutralized so far?” you ask, peeking over the wood.

“A few. Dunno exactly. The barricades at the other entrances aren’t having any luck either,” he says. “I can confirm nobody’s been in or out, even for supplies.”

“All right, Lieutenant, here’s the fun part,” you tell him quietly. “We’re taking this place, tomorrow morning. When do they change shifts?”

The Lieutenant looks grimly at you. “We are, huh? They usually change out troops at about six hour intervals.”

“Alright. We’re going in hard. We snipe their guards, then we breach with everything we’ve got, nice and quiet,” you explain. “Think that’ll work?”

“Yeah, they don’t seem to patrol much inside, but… that place has long hallways,” he says. “You’ll need to move very quickly.”

“Noted.” You and Cassandra have tapped the Well, so you should be able to handle it. “Think I can get closer? Take a look myself?”

He shakes his head. “Not from here. If you want that, then go back to the office, loop around the structure, and try to approach from an extreme angle.”

“Thanks.” You slink back until you can stand safely and walk quickly back to the office.

Alan looks at you as you pull up your hood. “You’re trying to see how close we can get?”

“Bet your ass,” you tell him. “We need to see what kind of security they really have.”

He holds out a hand to stop your progress. “Then let me. I guarantee they’ve seen your face, but I wasn’t working alongside you until after Kotrick had already fled the city. They may not know what I look like.”

You hesitate, but his training is as good as yours. “Sure. Just be safe.”

He shoots you a cocky grin and drops low, walking on the edges of his boots to muffle sound. It’s a bit superfluous since the enemy can’t see him from where they are anyway, but at least he’s being cautious.

The mine entrance has a large wooden frame around the tunnel, complete with some well-made hanging lanterns and glowstone sconces. They’re all ablaze, which doesn’t mean much mid-day, but it’s at least a sign of what the place will look like tomorrow morning. Dervich loops wide around the building and across the gravel paths towards the entrance, while the Guards do a passable job of not looking in his direction. When he gets close enough that he and the enemies could overhear each other, he slows to a snail’s pace. He crouches beside the wooden frame, rests his ear to the wood, and listens.

You watch anxiously as your Paladin surveys the enemy for several long minutes, then backs up. He follows the same path back, and when he reaches you, he shakes his head. “Waste of time,” he grunts. “They’re not even talking to each other.”

>”Could they be an illusion?”>”How many are there?”>”Did you hear anything inside the tunnels?”>writein

You glare at the distant and foreboding tunnel mouth. “How many are there?”

“Up front, I saw or heard maybe… four people?” he hazards. “More or less what we expected, if one guy was asleep or off having a dump or something.”

You lean back against the office’s exterior wall and immediately regret it as your cloak picks up some rock dust. You brush it off, glancing at the distant barricade. “Hmph. What about inside? Did you hear anything inside we should be aware of?”

“Nothing. Not even footsteps.” Alan glances over at where the Lieutenant is briefing his troops in a quiet voice that doesn’t carry over the winter breeze. “Place is like a tomb.”

“It is a tomb, and it’ll be pretty full if we’re not careful,” you say heavily. “All right. Nice job, man.”

“Thanks.” He shields his eyes from the noon sun through the rippling clouds. “Gonna be pretty snowy tomorrow. What do you want to do until then?”

>Meditate and commune with Asa and Kerin>Go do some light training and workout>Go see if you can help the local troops drill>Go have a sit-down with Cassandra and the Sisters and pass along specific instructions>Go see the town enchanter>Go see if you can locate another entrance>Just explore the town and talk to people who may be scared by what’s happening>writein

“I think we’re done here, actually,” you decide. “Let’s go see if we can’t track down the Sisters.”

“Always a good idea,” Alan chuckles.

You find the three of them in the Golden Horse, the local inn. The three Sisters in their black cloaks and enchanted armor draw more than a few eyes from the crowd, but from they way they’re acting, nobody bothered them. When Cassandra sees you walk in, she raises a hand, to your slight surprise. “Ah, Elsa, welcome,” she says when you’re close enough. “Nice of you to join us.”

“Good to see you again, Cassandra,” you tell her, sliding into a seat beside the older woman. “How was your trip?”

“Uneventful and fast, fortunately,” she says. “That’s the best kind of travel. Yours?”

“We got snowed on, and we found what we sure thought was the remains of a pack of bandits you interrupted,” you tell her. “That wasn’t you who was fighting ahead of us?”

You look over at the two younger Sisters. Donali is looking like how she sounds, but Gannet is just facing her plate and not saying anything. You direct your question to Donali, but you’re facing Gannet when you ask it. “Sister Donali, you and Gannet specialize in Current manipulation and healing. Which will you use tomorrow?”

Donali shrugs. “Whatever you need. I could start up in combat magic and switch over to healing if needed, it’s not a problem either way.” Gannet just nods in silence.

You look over at her in concern. “Are you alright, Gannet?”

She just slowly shakes her head. “I’m just nervous. What if I hurt a hostage or something?”

“The only way to prevent that is to rely on your training,” Alan says awkwardly.

“Yeah,” she says quietly.

You rise to your feet. “I’m going to go train and meditate, if you want in. Maybe you’ll feel better after a workout.”

She just sits there until the rest of you have risen. Abruptly, she looks up. “You know what? I would like that,” she says, scrambling up. “Where are we going?”

Half an hour’s walk and disrobing later, you’re standing in the largest room of the guest house and kneeling in normal clothes. Alan and Gannet are there too, though the other Sisters had politely declined.

“So what is this?” Gannet asks, looking at you curiously.

“A meditative ritual that improves the speed at which you gain strength and health during workouts or sleep, for Heralds, and just general good health for everybody else,” you tell her. “Vier and Haret taught it to me.”

She looks down at the floor. “Um… okay, how does it work?”

You slowly walk her through the meditative stances of the process, allowing Alan to cover where human anatomy slightly differs from yours. After a while, the three of you fall silent, just focusing on the process.

Gannet’s face screws up as you move through one tricky stance. “It’s… this is an odd feeling,” she says. “Sort of numb tingling?”

“That’s supposed to happen,” you assure her.

“I have that effect,” Alan quips, and Gannet snorts before hushing up.

You roll your eyes and move through the next stance. When you’re all done, an hour or two later, Gannet stretches. “Mmmm… that did feel good, actually,” she says. “You say Vier taught you?”

“Vier and Haret gave me the training,” you say, which is close enough.

“Well, I do feel better,” she says. She’s not exactly up to her usual bubbly self, but she at least sounds calmer. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” you add, stifling a yawn. “And now, I think I’m just going to work out.”

“Okay.” Gannet turns to Dervich as he tugs his cloak back on. “Alan, are you going somewhere?”

“Just a little jog,” he says.

“Mind if I tag along?” she asks brightly.

Your sidekick grins. “I’d like that.” He waves you goodbye as he takes off.

You tap the Gem as you pull your outer clothes off and walk into the bedroom to get started. {Sister, we have our plan. We’re going in quietly, tomorrow morning, and using the gas to incapacitate as many as we can before rescuing the hostages.}

[Very well. How are your forces coming?]

>{Fewer than I’d hoped. I’m concerned.}>{There’s enough of them, but only six or seven of us have any real experience.}>{Not sure. The Sisters are ready, at least.}>writein

{Well… I suppose there’s enough of them, but only a small number have any real experience. Me, Al, two Legionnaires, and the three Sisters, from what I’ve seen. Unless the Major in charge around here is going to help, in which case I guess he could be counted too.}

~Were it only that you traveled with a full company of Shieldbearers, like in the old days,~ your brother muses. ~Ah well. How are you feeling, personally?~

You sigh into the cold room. {I’m fine. Just nervous. I let it out in a letter.}

~Yes, I heard. You’re a good woman, Elsa.~

{Thanks.}

[Don’t fear the morning, sister. You’ll be as ready as you can be, I’m sure of it.]

{What if more hostages die? I royally fucked the mission with Soutri.}

[And then did perfectly against Saren,] Asa reminds you. [You’re better, you’re tougher, and now you’ve done proper recon. You can do this.]

You smile at the certainty in her voice. {Yeah. Yeah, I can. I just have to trust in my allies.}

[That’s the spirit.] Asa’s voice pauses for a moment. [By the way, one of my Avatars encountered Master Sun a few hours ago. If you wrap this all up tomorrow and start home at once, he’ll have already arrived, so don’t feel rushed. He understands how busy you are.]

{He makes me nervous,} you admit. {A man of his power is a dangerous thing. Do you think he’ll look down on me for my relative lack of experience and power?}

[Heavens, no,] Asa says. [He wouldn’t.]

{His students are held to the highest standard possible,} you remind her.

[And he entrusts them with centuries-long missions of incomparable importance, and fathomless power,] she says evenly. [You’ll be gone and home in seven months at most. That, and you have a power he never will.]

{I guess.} You crouch down to the floor and start your abbreviated limbering-up. You were pretty stretched already by the meditation. {All right. I’m just going to work out and go get dinner, I think. I’ll contact you in the morning.}

~Please do.~

[Stay safe.]

After your light workout – no sense in tearing muscles right before a fight – you rise and clean yourself up, and it’s already dark out.

After a meal by yourself in the well-stocked guest house, you lie down in the frigid bed and clear your mind. Sleep comes quickly.

You are Duchess-Herald Marena, and you are meeting the one person in all the world more powerful than you.

You kneel before the Emperor of Tarsh, head bowed and hands at your waist. “And so I am branded into the service of the Pantheon, your Excellency, and drawn by will and contract into yours as well,” you say. The recitation is only a few minutes long, but it’s difficult for even your Heraldic tongue.

The Emperor rises from his silver throne, letting the light from the vaulted windows scatter off of his mana cloak. The garment costs as much as a castle in the outer provinces to make, and he wears it well, draping it regally over his feathered shoulders. “So I welcome you in turn, Herald,” the Harpy says, his voice creaking in the way of the bird folk. “You are a part of my court now, and to two masters do you owe your allegiance.”

With that, the ceremony ends, and you are formally a member of the Imperial family. You rise to your feet as he spreads his wings. “All rise and meet their new God-speaker!” he calls, and the hall sounds general applause. He leans in closer and halts his volume enchantment. “And fairly may she judge,” he adds quietly. “For we need the skills of the Pantheon now more than ever.”

You are Elsa Ledren, and you’re staring at the ceiling. A Harpy Emperor, you think to yourself. And a dream outside the city’s walls. How odd. You slowly sit up in the bed, thinking. You knew the Imperial throne had changed hands more than once in its long and colorful history, with a few elves warming it at times, and the final bearer of the Scepter had been a wilderness elf like you. But to see the race that came half a hair’s-width from ending the world in its highest and unequaled throne is an odd sensation.

A glimmer of starlight pushes past the curtains and into your room as you rise, shrugging on a guest robe four sizes too big for you. You look out the window and see the fields beyond the manor, where a few servants ould grow cotton in nicer seasons. You see the way the clouds dapple the blank expanse of snow with a strange pattern that draws the eye.

You see a few Guards patrolling the streets outside, and wonder how many will be alive tomorrow.

The window mists as you sigh. No point in wondering. You’ve done what you can. Now all you have to do is end it all.

You press the Gem. {Sister, do you have any idea what artifacts Kotrick may still have?}

[Hmm. He had to abandon nearly all of them when he fled, I think… I suspect he has his enchanted armor and shields, and probably a few human relics of the old days, but Saren didn’t actually sell much directly to him.]

The sun isn’t even up when you rise from bed. You’ve been lying there, drifting in and out of shifting, unhappy rest for hours, and you’re accomplishing nothing.

You get the water going in the tiny bath and enjoy a leisurely bath, just to do something to help yourself relax in the many hours you have left before the battle begins. When you’ve soaked long enough, you rise and dry off, then grab a quick bite to eat and get your gear ready.

You run your fingers over the soft fabric of the uniform, just thinking. You had been dreading wearing that for so long, just because Asa sounded so blithely unconcerned about it, and back then you had treated all aspects of your new role in the world with a degree of trepidation. Now, wearing the uniform is as comfortable as breathing.

You don the uniform and some fresh underwear and socks, and strap your boots next. The armored duster goes on after that with the plates and helm, and the new Dragon-man gorget on top of your chest. You strap the new shield to your arm, the dagger to the shield, the grenades and swords to your belt, and the spear to your shoulder. You wrap your sling around your waistand cinch it like a second belt, and clip your armored vambraces on after it all. You finish with the mask, resting on a cord from your shoulder, just so you don’t scare your own allies at the rally point.

Your Gem warms as you finish all the various ties and straps. [Sister?]

[I already did, he got up early to speak of the rebellion to his advisors.]

{How’s that going?}

[Anarchy. Three of the four Dukes behind the rebellion are dead or captured, and the winter storms are playing hell with the logistical chains of both sides.]

{Huh. Okay, thanks. Have any last-minute advice for me?}

~Yes: Don’t let us distract you.~

{What?}

[You learned to fight in our absence. Rely on your training, your allies, and the righteousness of your cause. That’s all you need.]

Outside, you walk slowly to the mining office in the total dark of the night. The wind and snow have stopped, but clouds have moved in despite your prediction, and it’s as dark as the bottom of the sea outside. The mining office is a little beacon of light in the expanse of trees and scrub and snow, and you walk in after knocking.

“Don’t worry, we’re all nervous. Except maybe Cassandra, I’ve never seen her nervous,” you chuckle.

The door swings open and Dervich wanders in. “Hey, Elsa, we’re getting all set up out here,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

>”Anybody new show up last night?”>”Anybody have any brilliant insights last night?”>”Where’s Clendenin and his vent blocks?”>”Are the Alchemists ready with that gas bomb?”>”Any messages from inside the mine?”>writein

“Any sign of that Alchemist guy, Clendenin, with the vent blocks?” you ask, pouring him some tea.

He accepts the cup and nods. “He’s ready to go. His boss, the other Researcher lady, she has the sleeping gas. They only have a quart and a half, but that’s more than enough to fill most chambers in that mine.”

“Good.” You look out the window at the distant barricades and sigh. “Any sign from inside? Hostages escaping, attempts at parley, anything?”

“I wish,” the young human says with a sigh, wafting tea steam across the room. “No. It’s silent.”

“Then it’s time we got to work,” you decide.

Outside, Cassandra is stuffing her quiver with arrows and strapping an enchanted bodkin to her waist. The two Alchmists are huddled around some large chunks of rough-cut wood, which Clendenin has resting on a canvas tarpaulin. The Guard and Army troops are massing behind the office, where Godwyne stands tall, glaring out at the dozen or so mercenaries you hired and the few others he had managed to employ on his own. Toller’s mages stand over by the Army medics, where they’re crouched over some leather field bags, talking shop.

“Time to move, people,” you say loudly, drawing their eyes. You stand at the top of the step leading up to the office and sip your tea, looking out at the assembled warriors and mages. “Any last questions?”

“What do we do if they start using the hostages as living shields?” one of the Guards asks.

>”Slow down and don’t try to be a hero.”>”Let the Mages handle it.”>”Scream for me and I’ll come help.”>”Shoot the enemy’s legs out and try to separate the hostage from the criminal.”>writein

“Shoot their legs out,” you tell them, letting your anger at the idea of yet another hostage-taking slip into your voice. “Get the hostage away from the hostage-taker, then scream for a medic.”

That still people’s chatter, for sure. “And… prisoners?” the same soldier asks hesitantly.

“Accept surrenders, but don’t go looking for them,” you say bluntly. “These guys have had weeks to ask for quarter, they won’t go looking for it now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Cassandra finishes stuffing her quiver and strings up her bow. “So, shall we?” she asks aloud.

“Let’s,” Dervich says, lifting a bow. He’s a far better shot with arrows than you are, and a sling would be too slow to kill the barricaded enemies without them raising an alarm.

You turn around peek past the edge of the building, trying to see how many enemies are at the barricade, but you can’t see it from here. You down the rest of your tea and leave the mug on the step, creeping up towards the barricade.

An officer you don’t know waves you down as you approach. “Good morning, your Eminence,” he says quietly. “Four alert enemies behind the barrier, one guy half-asleep. Thing is, they’re changing the guard in about five minutes, if they follow their schedule, and there will be ten or eleven troops behind that barricade.”

>Wait to get more at once>Let the current ones get replaced before attacking>Attack now and try to kill the next wave covertly in the tunnel>writein

The outer barricade is five feet tall, and wide enough that about fifteen men could stand behind it comfortably. It's made of plywood and branches.

The inner barricade, the one behind which enemies are crouching, is three to three and a half feet tall, stretches completely across the twenty five foot wide tunnel entrance, has two lanterns above it and two glowstones in sconces beside it, and is approximately two feet back inside the door. The two barricades are forty eight feet apart. There are about a dozen Guards and a Guard junior commissioned officer behind the nearer, wood barricade.

“Then that’s my cue,” you say with grim satisfaction. You squirm back to the waiting body of troops and motion for quiet. “Folks,” you say intently. “We’re not going to shooting arrows at the enemy. I’m going to use one of my powers to neutralize them all during the changing of the guard.”

Dervich gasps as the others mutter to their neighbors. “You’re going to put them to sleep!” he exclaims.

“Damn right,” you say with a wicked grin. “Nobody show their faces until I give the signal.”

You peel off from the group and slip over beside the small hill into which this particular exit from the tunnels was cut. You crouch down on the edges of your feet and gradually move over beside the exit, listening intently.

After a few minutes of cramped, cold waiting, you hear voices from beside you.

“There you bastards are,” one of them says, a rough-sounding human woman from the sound of her. “What took you?”

“Miners were bitching about not having any food this morning, had to shut a few up,” a man replies, followed by a crunching of snow and gravel as he sits down. “So fucking cold out here lately.”

“It’s called winter,” you hear another man say.

Time to strike. You slap the mask into place and focus your mind.

You instantly hear a series of thuds as the people on the other side collapse. The Guards at the barricade gasp. You wave urgently at them, and the break cover, rushing closer.

You round and vault the low wall. What you see when you land makes you grin at your handiwork. “Nicely solved,” you chuckle. There’s nine men and women in various uncomfortable-looking states of collapse on the floor, some with scattered plates of crackers or cups of coffee beside them.

The soldiers from the office rush up, but you halt them with a wave of the hands. “Whoa, whoa, folks, quiet down,” you insist. “Alchemists, pass off the bomb and go get those boards in place. Tunnel fighters, on the fore. We’re going in.”

Alan leans in closer as the troops sort themselves into their order. “Did… you put them to sleep forever, or just until we need them?” he asks carefully.

“I only sent them to sleep for a day,” you assure him. “We’ll be done and gone by then.”

He nods and unslings his spear. “Then let’s do this.”

Clendenin takes off at a sprint while Vein-finder hands Alan a large glass bottle. “Here’s the gas, young man,” she says. “Do be careful.”

“I will,” he promises.

“We need to move,” Godwyne says grimly. “Those guards will be supposed to check in when they get off-shift, I promise.”

You all fall into formation, advancing in pairs down the hall. You and Cassandra take point, as agreed, with the Earth mage and Alan behind. The tunnel is more than broad enough to accommodate more people, though, and Godwyne silently directs several soldiers and Guards to secure some small side rooms. You see a mercenary rip a door open and leap inside, then walk right back out. “Broom closet,” he whispers.

Another mercenary isn’t as lucky. He pulls a door open and recoils as a chunk of wood launches from a spring trap, clanging into his stomach armor. He collapses, wheezing, as the air gets knocked from his lungs. “F-fuck,” he whimpers, rolling back onto his stomach. One of the Army medics rushes up to him as the rest of you advance, and a trio of Guards push into the annexed room beyond, looking for enemies.

“Traps, great,” Donali mutters.

“Stay focused,” Cassandra snaps. The older Sister drifts ahead of you a few feet, gliding like greased ice over the bare rock floor. You can’t help but marvel at her quiet; it’s downright uncanny.

Dervich reaches past you and points at a fork in the tunnel. “There,” he says under his breath. “The main gallery, where they lift up the ore, is to the left. The right fork goes to the other entrances, then rejoins the gallery on the other side.”

>Send some men to ambush the other entrances and free up the Guards watching those barricades>Keep the force cohesive – you have no idea how far into the mine Kotrick is keeping his reserves

“Then we go secure the other entrances. Last thing we need is an ambush,” you mutter back. You wave over Godwyne as his men secure the forks. “Get some troops up these tunnels, have them attack the enemy soldiers at the other two entrances,” you whisper.

“I agree,” he mutters, and he pumps his fist at the right fork. Twenty of his Guards peel off and jog into the darkness.

“I wonder how the men at the barricades were supposed to communicate to the mainb gallery if something went wrong,” Alan muses as the Guards vanish into the tunnel.

“Runners, I bet,” the Earth mage puts in.

“We’ll worry about that later,” yoy sau firmly, and you head out with your diminished force.

You and several dozen soldiers take the left fork and run down its dim length, watching for enemies, when a shout from ahead suddenly echoes down the rocky corridor. “Who the… intruders!” a voice shouts. Cassandra whips out her bow and fires an arrow down the hall, and the voice turns from a cry of alarm into a scream of pain, but it’s probably loud enough to hear either way. You all break into a sprint and spill into the walkway above the main gallery. The injured man staggers back out of sight around the corner, screaming his lungs out.

Sleeping men and women rouse to wakefulness as you all rush into the gallery, and the mages shoot little balls of light around the massive cavern to illuminate the darkness. The soldiers behind you ignite torches, and the entire depth of metal and rock turns to a shadow gallery. Over thirty people in ragged armor and clothing lurch out of the passages and tunnels all around you, brandishing weapons, and while a few throw down their arms at once, seeing the size of your force, most charge headlong.

Roll 1d100+9 for Evasion(you may also throw the gas at any time, though you should be aware that its area of effect will incapacitate any allies who don’t have breath masks)

You haul ass for the nearest open spot in the chaos and look for the right place to throw the bomb. The chaotic light brightens even more as some soldiers throw torches down into the gallery’s lower levels, illuminating several more enemies rushing up from the next level down. No sign of Kotrick yet…

There! The hostages are all clustered around tables in the main mess hall, about ninety feet around the circular gallery from where you’re standing. They’s all awake and screaming for help, as a pair of Kotrick’s men with grenades in their hands stand in their midst, looking panicky, holding the grenades above the ground.

“CASSANDRA! WATCH OUT FOR THE GRENADIERS!” you scream, pointing at the two enemies in the middle of the mess hall.

She calls an acknowledgment, then the world starts spinning. The bomb falls from your hands – miracle of miracles, it doesn’t break – and you launch into the balustrade around the gallery, landing poorly and losing your breath in a huff behind your mask. You nearly puke your tea back up, but instead, you whip your head up, looking for whatever hit you.

Oh. There’s Kotrick. The human is clad in glittering silver armor, carrying a gigantic war maul in his hands. He steps over the corpse of the mercenary he launched into your shield, which had knocked you back. “You horrible bitch,” he growls, madness glinting in his eyes. “I’m going to leave nothing left of you but ashes.”

He swings the maul, and it slams against your magic shield. It doesn’t break, but a sparking wave of ice chips follows in the path of the head as it hits the magic bubble – the maul has a Frostwind enchantment.

The next hammerblow slams into the magic bubble, and the balustrade behind you cracks. You stumble back and nearly fall.

“Go and burn!” he rages, drawing a piece of paper from his pocket. He holds it aloft and reads a few words in primordial human language aloud.

In a heartbeat, the bottom level of the huge gallery explodes in flame. The entire lower level rocks as a whirling pool of enchanted fire fills the open space, incinerating the wooden lift and creeping up the walls.

Even Kotrick’s men don’t seem to know it’s coming, since most of them start screaming and trying to claw their way past your men. A few of the Mercenaries – and, gratifyingly, the three Sisters – have managed to reach the mess hall, and are pointing bows or magic hands at the two suicide bombers there.

The insane criminal grins maniacally and winds up for another hit. “Wait a few minutes, you’ll see!” he screams.

You dodge the next one aside and nearly stumble as chunks of the balustrade fall into the gallery below. To your horror, the magic fire is slowly creeping up the walls of the gallery. It’s getting a bit hot.

He has a shield too, and that maul looks pretty potent.

>Scoop up the gas and try to use it right here>Scoop up the gas and throw it at the men Kotrick called on the lower levels>Just bull-charge Kotrick with a weapon (which one?)>Use a power (any of them, just tell me which one you want to use)>Scream for backup>Try to reason with him>writein

>>36896917>Scoop up the gas and throw it at the men Kotrick called on the lower levels

If only Lance of Purity also let us put fire out...

>Try to reason with him"How do you picture this turning out, Kotrick? Even if you manage to kill me and everyone here, you'll be brought to justice soon enough. Your crimes have threatened the Demigods, and by extension the entire world. There's no chance they'll let you escape."

“How does this end for you, Kotrick?” you shout back. A few of his men are down, now, and a few of yours, too, but numbers are telling. Your men are definitely winning. “You threatened the Pantheon itself! Even if you kill us all, you’ll never escape!”

“EXACTLY!” he screams. He slams the maul’s head into the ground and a wave of ice erupts from the impact point, shoving you onto your knees. You thrust your spear into the ground and push yourself sideways, across the icy surface, neatly avoiding his next blow.

“Exactly what? Spite is more important than honor?” you bellow, scrambling up.

He just yells, incoherently, and charges again. His shield flickers yellow as he runs – it has a Current dampener, at least, so Shock and Current grenades and magic won’t do much.

In fact, you need to bring this battle under control quickly. You have no doubt that he chose the enchantment on his weapon carefully. Humans are naturally attuned to ice, and the more of the battlefield he freezes, the harder he’ll be to surprise. You roll sideways again and scoop up the gas bomb, then launch yourself away from Kotrick with both legs. He shouts and redirects his charge, but you run right up to the balustrade and chuck the gas bomb at the level below you as hard as you can.

The container shatters at once, and a cascade of sickly grey gas shoots out in all directions, including back up at you. You hurriedly tuck your mask into place as the gas seeps up the stairs onto your level, and you wince as you see a few of your men collapse as the gas washes over them.

You just barely avoid the swing, ducking below it. “Fine, if you want to die so badly, I’ll let it happen!” you roar, drawing your spear. He bellows something incoherent and swings again, and you have to duck back to avoid it. You turn the recoil into a counter and stab with the blade, where it skips off of his shield. You recoil as he lands another hit, but you manage a solid hit on him, too.

This isn’t working, though. Your shield reservoir kicked in, but his shield wasn’t damaged before you started fighting back, so you may not outlast him.

And that fire is getting closer and closer…

>Use a power>Keep fighting and let the numerical advantage work to your aid>Disengage and start evacuating>writein

You guys are so lucky I started writing before you rolled those fails.

>>36897662Yeah, I never thought we'd get the people caught by sleeping gas, I just want Kotrick down. If it doesn't work keep fighting until/unless the fire starts to look unescapable. Hopefully the heat from it will melt some of the ice Kotrick is throwing around.

Oh, I see, you want to spam the ability and put a timer on it for everybody but the target.

Well, unfortunately, it's an AOE, and the duration of sleep for one target is the duration of sleep for all of them.

That's good thinking, though.

If you want, you could engage it for, say, a few minutes. Problem is, this gallery is huge, and there's no way you'd get everybody you want to hit with that. That, and you're right in the thick of the fighting. If you put nearly a hundred people to sleep, you may not be able to get everybody out in time.

It's up to you. If you'd rather use a different ability, you can do that too.

To hell with all of them. You reach deep into Asa’s power and cast your second sleep spell.

Instantly, you hear the clatters and sudden silence of many dozens of people falling down around you, unconscious, for a distance of twenty meters in all directions.

You let out a shaky breath and look back at Kotrick, who collapsed with the rest. You wearily draw your dagger and walk up beside him, sliding it towards his exposed neck.

Except you can’t.

The dagger skips off of his bubble shield, and you curse yourself for a fool. He didn’t actually take off the enchanted ring, so the shield is still active.

>Try to punt the shield bubble hard enough that he falls into the fire>Just pummel the bubble and get some free damage in on it while you can>Page Asa for advice in the few seconds you have left>Burn another power>Kill as many other enemies as you can before everybody wakes up>Fucking run and let superior numbers finish him>Use a different weapon>writein

You only have a few seconds. You drop the spear and dagger and put your legs behind you, shoving the bubble as hard as you can. It deforms a bit to the contour of the ground and the person in it, so it’s not impossible, but you can’t make much progress.

Smoke rises from the metal of your gloves, and a horrible acidic stench, as the shield energy starts eating at the armor. You don’t even bother biting back a scream of pain as the energy burns right through one fingertip and starts incinerating your flesh.

After several seconds, the bodies around you stir and awaken, all at once. Kotrick snorts, confused, then focuses on you. He bellows in surprise and scrambles away, but that just takes him another few feet closer to the edge.

>2The criminal mastermind flails and topples back over the edge, but he manages to catch the lip with his maul and turn it into a swinging motion. He crashes through the railing below and lands with a heavy *thud* on the ground below you.

The gas disperses lower into the mine, settling heavier than air. You gasp in surprise as the gas seems to muffle the fire in places. Thanking Mai’te the Alchemists were smart enough to make the stuff fireproof, you turn to face the battle, just in time for another of Kotrick’s men to step forth from the resuming battle. This one’s wearing the armor of a mage, and his hands spark with magic. His eyes, though… they’re what catch your attention. They’re empty sockets, leaking ichor.

You swallow your revulsion and stab forward your armor-cutter short sword, and he recoils as it clips right through his spaulders. To your shock, though, he manages a sick grin.

“And all the master wanted was some peace and quiet,” the mage giggles, and he lurches at you with a bestial squeal.

You manage to dodge out of the way, and the mage slips on the ice, falling with a shriek. He doesn’t go over the edge, but he’s flat on his face, scrabbling for purchase.

>Move to finish him>Collect your dropped gear>Find a medic for your hand>Go find Kotrick one floor down>Go see to the hostages>Check to see how high the fire is now>Call for divine backup>writein

You turn and run from the mage, checking the fire as you do, and the sight puts a clamp on your belly. The fire has now completely consumed the lowest floor of the seven floor gallery. Molten rivers of rock are shooting off into every hall. It’s not rising as quickly as it had been, but it’s rising. The people hit by the gas – including your own people – are still immobile.

The hostage situation seems unchanged. Cassandra and several others are pointing bows at the two suicide bombers. You start over towards the scene when a bolt of lightning impales your bubble shield and shatters it.

You wheel around to see the mage on his knees, laughing madly. “MASTER WANTS HIS QUIET! MASTER WANTS HIS QUIET!” The horribly injured wilderness elf keeps up the chant as he casts another bolt of lightning, which shoots past you and strikes Major Godwyne, instantly blowing him to a shower of meat scraps.

>>36898805>That guy is not as blind as I thought. Well, he did miss. >Is he wearing anything we can ignite with Lance of Purity?He is not wearing any wooden armor or plant matter. You'd gain a moment's distraction as the plant-based dye in his clothes cooked off, but it certainly wouldn't harm him.

>>36898937Less about to die than I thought too. I probably should have googled spaulders earlier. I guess use it to distract him while we go back and reclaim the spear and dagger. Don't want to get blasted.

>>36898983You are wearing your Heraldic helm and mask. Your enchanted Heraldic armor and nonenchanted Heraldic uniform. You have two enchanted short swords and their weightless scabbards. You have your enchanted Dragon-man shield (though the magic reservoir on both that and the helm are empty). You have a satchel of grenades and bullets, and a sling with which to use them (also nonenchanted). You have a flask of water and a compass, your enchanted Ring of Preservation (which is a sort of magic people cast on engagement rings so that lovers don't have kids before they want to). You have a canvas bag with your ammo in it.

You drop to one knee and whip out a Current grenade. The sling would be overkill here, but at this range, you don’t need it anyway. You hurl the grenade at the giggling mage.

It cracks against his face, and to your mingled satisfaction and grotesque disgust, the Current-producing alchemic slime inside splatters into his eye sockets as it cooks off. The mage instantly dies, pitching back over the ice and into the fires below.

Abruptly, a chorus of screams from the mess hall draws your attention. One of the suicide bombers dropped his grenades. Cassandra has an arrow through his head in an instant, while Donali sends a bolt of sparkling energy at the little glass ball. The grenade skitters off into the corner, where it explodes, and the nearest hostages cumple, slumping against the ropes tying them to their seats. Donali and Gannet rush over to them and cast rays of healing light over their bodies, while the other bomber is screaming something incoherent.

>Go find Kotrick>Call for an Avatar to come help clean this mess up>Help fight here>Go get the last bomber>Go see why the other barricade fights seem to be taking so long>writein

You can’t let Kotrick escape, but hostages are dying now. You sprint for the mess hall, trying to figure out what’s going on. A few of Kotrick’s men emerge, screaming, from the lower stairs and run the other way, where Godwyne’s surviving men lay into them with gusto. You scoop up your weapons and hastily stow them as you run.

You skid to a halt beside Cassandra, who is staring at the other bomber with raw anger in her beautiful eyes. “If you move, if you even think of doing as Kotrick told you to do, I’ll ventilate you,” Cassandra says flatly.

“I have to do it,” the bomber sobs. Tears are gushing down his face, and his hands are shaking beside him. “I have to, I don’t have a choice…”

You inflate your lungs and snap off a command in your true Sergeant style. “You will NOT drop those bombs, do you hear me?” you roar, and Asa’s raw power floods your voice. It cuts through his terror and hatred and building hysteria like a brick through grass. “YOU WILL NOT MURDER THESE PEOPLE!”

Asa’s power punches right through the air, and he staggers. “No, no,” he groans, trembling. “Go away…”

“These people don’t deserve to die!” you bark. “Put the grenades down!”

“He already primed them,” Cassandra says grimly. “If he lets go, the air from outside the primer holes will mix with the alchemic mix inside and cook them off.”

>”You get one chance to throw those into the gallery hole instead of setting them off here.”>Command Donali or one of the other mages to neutralize them somehow (how?)>writein

“Here’s your chance, guy,” you say darkly. “Your one chance. Your last and only chance to be a good guy instead of a butcher. You toss those grenades into the gallery hole instead of setting them off here, and Cassandra doesn’t shoot your brain out the back of your skull.”

He closes his eyes. Tears slip out anyway. “I can’t, I can’t not be with them again…” he mumbles.

“Kotrick said you’d be with somebody if you murder these people?” you demand.

The man slowly nods. “I’ll see my family again…”

Roll 1d100+26 for Persuade. That awesome improv before with the letter to Jerome earned you a ten point bonus. Further good improv here nets you an even bigger bonus.

Kotrick and Forest convinced their people that your being back, and being evil (according to them) meant that heaven and hell must have been rebuilt. He thinks he'll see the family he lost in the civil war if he dies in battle here because that's what Kotrick tricked him into thinking.

You feel your blood freeze as you recognize that the grenades are both Caustics. Not as dangerous as frags – you’re out of range of them, for instance – but anybody within the splash radius is beyond dead. Stay calm. Read the character sheet. Pay specific attention to the abilities Elsa possesses that allow her to speak to others, to compel others, to communicate with others. I wouldn’t leave you with an ambiguous prompt like the one up there without a way to solve the problem if you fail one simple roll.

When you were trying to free Ardraebel, you used your empathic power to push away mind control magic, at Asa’s direct allowance. You hope, you wish, you pray that brainwashing counts too.

May the Holy Triad forgive you.

You reach into the depths of your power and feel it surge forth, crashing over the man. His eyes go wide as he reaches down and grabs the grenades before they can crack, then runs at you. Cassandra wisely steps back, though the look of confusion on her face tells you she doesn’t understand what’s happening. The running man sprints past you, getting almost all the way into the gallery and to the railing before the caustics cook off.

He dies at once, collapsing into a melting pile of bone and flesh, and you feel a surge of shock in your mind – Asa’s reaction.

[Sister! What happened?] she demands.

You push your finger up under your mask. {I used my empathic power to force a suicide bomber to detonate away from the hostages instead of in their midst,} you admit. {I’m sorry.}

She goes silent. [He would have killed innocents?] she finally asks.

{Yes. Dozens. They’re tied to tables in the mess hall, and he was standing among them.}

[…Very well. I suppose it’s for the best, then.] She sighs. [All right. Is Kotrick dead?]

{No.}

[Does he have any God-killer weapons?]

{I haven’t seen any.}

Her voice grows a bit annoyed. [Then why didn’t you just ask me to dispose of the bomb for you? I’ve done it before for you, half a dozen times already.]

{Oh…}

[Never mind. It’s done. Where’s Kotrick?]

{He fell off the top level into the lower ones, but he’s alive. He used a fire scroll to ignite the mine; the whole main gallery is flooding with lava.}

[Oh? And is your gas working?]

{Yes. We need to evacuate everybody, though, but I can’t lose Kotrick.}

[Quite. I can help with the evacuation. You say it’s flooding with lava?]

{Yes, and it’s rising.}

[Hmm. Did he do that with a magic scroll?]

{Yeah.}

[Odd. He didn’t get that from Saren…]

{Can we discuss this later? I need to rescue these people.}

[Very well.]

You break the link, and of course no time at all has passed. You shove your way into the mess and start cutting ropes. “Quick, everybody up! Get up, get up!” you shout. “Make for the exits!”

A cloud of smoke and rubble blasts in through one of the tunnel entrances to the gallery, about a hundred feet from you. You look up to see a dozen men in Guad uniforms charging in – Godwyne’s men cleared another mine entrance, finally.

“Where… what do we do?” one hostage moans, rubbing circulation back into his hands.

“Go! That way, get out of the mine!” you exclaim, as Cassandra starts cutting ropes too.

“Right… you heard the lady, we go!” the hostage says, taking charge and leading the others piecemeal out of the room.

You run up next to where Gannet is healing the injured hostages, but she slowly stands as you draw close. “Done what I can,” she mumbles, looking exhausted. You cut the ropes of her patient and help the bloodied woman to her feet.

“Go, go! Get out of here!” you instruct her, and she wobbles off after the others. You stab the Gem. {Sister, we saved the hostages!}

[All of them?]

{Apparently!}

[Well done, well done,] Asa’s voice says in relief. [Then you are forgiven for using your power for mind control. It all worked out.]

You shoulders sag as you break the connection. “Thank goodness,” you whisper.

>Go round up some allies and look for Kotrick (whom?)>Go join the battle>Go secure the third exit from the mines>Call in an Avatar to help fight now that Kotrick’s apparently missing>writein

The three of you rush over to the nearest stairwell, where the gas is slowly dissipating. You peer down into the murk, but don’t see anything.

“I see what you meant about the fire,” Asa says from behind you. She has her hands splayed over one unconscious woman, and even as you watch, the woman’s flesh knits back together. She coughs feebly and tries to move. “Stay still, Leiula,” Asa murmurs, before looking back up at you. “Do you want me to disperse the rest of the gas? The Sisters may not be able to follow you down there if I don’t.”

>”Please!”>”We can’t risk the rest of Kotrick’s men waking up…”>writein

She closes her radiant eyes for a moment, and the gas suddenly whips down into the firey pit, where it pools over the flames. The gas burns off in a matter of seconds.

“Done. Go,” she says. She turns her face to where the last of Kotrick’s men are fighting Godwyne’s troops and the mercenaries. “I’ll be right behind you,” she says darkly. Her Avatar flickers, and one of the enemy troops suddenly flies into the pit with nothing but a yelp of shock.

With that problem well in hand, the four of you race down the stairs, leaping over the prone bodies of several of Kotrick’s men who couldn’t escape the gas. The second floor of the gallery is far less illuminated, you discover, and its myriad mining tunnels branch off into the rock in every direction. You don’t see motion in any of them.

Above, an explosion blows out a chunk of rock as the third exit of the mine is secured, and the troops outside rush in to join the fighting. You hear the clamor of battle end.

“Looks like we won,” Cassandra remarks.

“Not yet,” you growl. “I guarantee that that son of a bitch is down here somewhere.”

“DIE!” Kotrick screams. The four of you spin as he lurches out from behind the stairway, already winding up a swing.

You spring back, and you feel a breeze as the hammer whips past you… directly into Gannet.

The other woman screams as she’s slammed into the wall, ice already spreading over her body. Donali gasps and flings herself after her partner, while Cassandra drops the bow and pulls her bodkin.

You don’t spare the healers a moment’s look as Kotrick wheels around for another strike. The sheen of air around him is still there, but it’s not as strong as it was before – either your damage didn’t regenerate yet, or somebody down here found him first.

Either way, it’s an opening. You bash with your new Dragon-man shield, and it connects, tipping him back a few paces, and buying enough time to act.

You charge in at once, hoping to catch him off-guard. You stab with your spear, and it skips off of his shield. He lashes out with the pommel of his mace, and it slams into your shield – the metal one. Your magic bubble hasn’t recharged yet. He then drops the haft down the front of yourshield and brings the head up in a whirl, knocking you back a step, but not doing any more damage. Cassandra darts in, slashing with her own blade, and his shield sparks – it’s nearly down!

Kotrick howls in rage and fear, driving the head of the maul forward like a ram, pushing you back several steps. You let out a *hurf* of breath as the head catches you in the stomach plate, but the ancient elf armor doesn’t crack. You topple back, stunned, but Cassandra’s there, and whatever skills and gear Kotrick’s money bought him, it didn’t buy improved reflexes. She’s all over him, slicing and dancing as you slowly crawl to your feet.

Lancing, burning pain in your stomach slows your every movement as you stagger back up. Cassandra skips back from a blow that freezes a chunk of the ground and sends snow whirling around in a trail behind the magnificent war-maul, and Kotrick turns back to you.

“I’LL GRIND YOU INTO DUST!” he screeches, and he brings the hammer down on you with both hands.

You lurch back, then feel the most horrible cold you’ve ever felt in the middle of your left arm. You look down in dumb shock as the maul simply removes your left arm at the elbow. You collapse to your knees as the severed limb falls to the ground and shatters as the ice enchantment destroys the flesh. You see your engagement ring glint in the mess of frozen blood, which is sort of pretty, now that you look at it.

Kotrick brings up the maul for another go, but a blast of light strikes his flank, and he stumbles. The shield bubble vanishes as Donali fires a stream of magic energy from her free hand, while the other she holds over the frozen meat that used to be Gannet Ainsley’s left side. The ice is slowly receding, and you see Gannet stir, so she’s not dead, at least.

Kotrick reels, and Cassandra leaps on him, stabbing viciously. As if from far away and in slow motion, though, you see him bring a punch dagger up out of his belt with his off-hand, and try to punch Cassandra with it. She sees it just in time, and lurches back, but a brutal kick from the armored criminal sends her sprawling back.

>1The railing behind Cassandra breaks, and she plummets into the smoke below with an agonized scream. Donali looks down at Gannet, up at you, over to where Kotrick has dropped the punch dagger and lifted his maul again, and then back at you, panic on her pretty face.

Don Kotrick’s face twists into a mask of rage as he brings the hammer down on Donali. She manages to dodge it, but the ice spreads under her feet as she moves. She rams her hands down on the ice, sparks fly from her palms, and Kotrick lurches away, jolted.

You see a chunk of his armored boot fly off as the Current she released touches off a small explosive dagger he had concealed there. Kotrick screams and nearly falls, though he manages to balance on the haft of his maul.

Donali throws herself back upright, firing another blast of magic at the criminal. He doesn’t dodge, and it sends him sprawling back towards you.

You grab for his face, but shock and numbness slows you. He grabs your arm and bats it away with his armored glove. He screams again, pulling you in closer to break your neck.

A massive clatter and splash of lava from below startles him, and the both of you fall onto your sides. The lift that carried ore from the lower levels into the upper gallery for sorting collapses as the chain that held down the counterweight fails, and the weight and load go plunging into the colloidal rock. You scramble up and grope for his bare flesh, but he’s not as badly hurt as you, and he punches you back, shattering your nose.

You flop onto your back, dazed, as he yanks the dagger from the pile of ruined flesh that used to be your left arm, and the shield it had strapped to it. “I’mma fuck out your eyes,” he grates, crawling closer.

A chunk of rebar slams into his helmet, sending him back down to the ground, and your dagger clatters down beside him. A blur of brown launches after it, coming up over the edge of the gallery and landing in a heap. Cassandra releases the chunk of counterweight chain she had ridden back up and rolls forward, landing a ruinous elbow strike on Kotrick’s shoulder that sends him to the ground beside you in a pile of armor. “Kill him,” she rasps, her throat raw from the heated gasses of the central gallery.

You ram your good hand into his face and squeeze, trying to Harvest him, and he manages one wail of total despair and forlorn hatred as his body vanishes from existence.

The soaring breeze of the mountians lifts the hem of your jacket as you lounge on the mossy stones of Mount Ouv. The Dragon-man home city looms high above you, on its broad, frozen sides, and you look up at them with total contentment in your soul.

You are Inglor, a Herald of the Sun Tribe of Mai’te, and you’ve averted a war. You feel pretty damn good.

You look up from the horizon and smile as your friends laugh and chat around the campfire, roasting a few hares they caught. Rough Dwarven chortling and airy Gnomish giggles mingle with human and elf laughter as the Heralds of four races celebrate their success. The Dragon-men have backed down, the Harpies have signed their treaty, the few remaining Dommen scavengers are defeated, and now, peace will come to fill the battlefields of the Homestead Mountains.

You let your eyes slide shut, and you relax to the sound of crackling fires and strong winds, just enjoying life.

You feel a person sit beside you after a time, and you smile with your eyes still shut. “I’d like a moment to just bask, Voris.”

“Wrong one. It does start with a V, though,” a woman’s voice answer.

You sit up and stare. Vier, the human demigoddess, is sitting beside you, resplendent in her armored vest and fluttering cloak. She favors you with a cheerful grin. “Hope I’m not interrupting?”

You open your eyes, and you’re Elsa Ledren, and OH FUCK YOU LOST AN ARM!

You sit up and choke back a scream, but strong, glowing hands restrain you. “Easy, Elsa, easy,” Asa says quietly. “You’re fine, you’re all healed up.” You quickly pat yourself down, but all your parts are there. You’re in the guest bedroom of Mavos’ manor, and aside from the sheets over your body, you’re naked and covered in new scars.

“Easy,” Asa repeats, pushing you back down and letting you pull the sheets back up. “Everything’s fine. You made it out, you saved the hostages, we evacuated the mine, I put out the fire. You won.”

“She’s fine, too, she just had some burns from the heat,” Asa promises. “Child’s play for a skilled medic.”

“Gannet? Donali?”

“Alive, but bedridden with ice burns,” Asa says. “Godwyne didn’t make it, but Dervich is alright, save a broken tibia. A few hostages had fragmentation cuts, and several Guards and Mercenaries were killed when they ran into the enemy troops at the secondary entrances,” she lists, “but all of Kotrick’s men died or surrendered, and he’s one with Haret now.”

>”Why did it take so long for the other entrances to be secured?”>”Did you save my arm, or grow me a new one?”>”How many days have passed?”>”Did I at least get all of Kotrick’s artifacts?”>”Where’s my stuff?”>”Where’s my clothes?”>”What happened to the mine?”>”Did you let the King know?”>”What have you told Jerome?”>writein

>>36905201>”What have you told Jerome?”>”Why did it take so long for the other entrances to be secured?”>”Did you save my arm, or grow me a new one? Or do what you did with my eyes and give me the arm of an Avatar?”>”What happened to the mine?”>”Did you let the King know?”>”How many days have passed?”

You push cobwebs from your mind as you try to think. “What… how much time passed?”

“It’s Tuesday evening,” she tells you, “the day after the battle.”

You look out the windows into a dark and wrathful blizzard. “Wow. What did you tell Jerome?”

“Only that you won, but you took a hit you could have fixed, and that you’d be home as soon as the road’s clear.”

“And… the King?” you ask.

“The same thing,” Asa tells you. “It’s over.”

You think back to the chaos of battle, and remember it taking far too long for your reinforcements to arrive. “Why did the other entrances take so long to secure?” you ask.

“Because they were changing the guard at every exit at once, so there were lots of troops coming and going in all three intact tunnels,” Asa explains, sitting down at the edge of the mattress. “Your soldiers ran into the group coming off-shift, and the ones that had just gone on-shift attacked the troops outside when they heard the fighting.”

“Oh, of course,” you mutter, feeling sheepish. “Uh… okay, what about my arm?” you ask, looking down at it. There’s an ugly red mark around the elbow. “Did you give me a new one, or did this re-grow?”

Asa lifts her own arm and holds it parallel to yours. Your eyes widen as you see the spiderweb of scars, and the coloration differences between your wilderness elf tan and her light elf paleness. “I couldn’t salvage all of your old flesh, so I saved what I could and replaced the rest with my own,” Asa explains, “just like your eyes.” Your patroness smiles. “If nothing else, you’re more powerful for it.”

“They were in the ore lift controller, where he had set up his bedroll,” Asa says. “It went up in smoke when Cassandra destroyed that.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” you mutter, running your hand over your eyes. “I don’t have to do this all again.”

“Never again, if I can help it,” Asa says cheerfully. “You’ve done so much already, sister.”

“Yeah.” You think back to the rising lava and shudder. “That lava was pretty scary. How did that happen?”

“He had a scroll with some incineration magic in it,” Asa says. “Not from Saren, either, he stole that from a museum before he ran from Clen. That mine, Silver Linings, they mined alchemic ingredients there along with ore. The magic reacted with the cinnabar ores and powdered sky-dust to turn the place into a miniature volcano.” She sighs. “Calver and Mavos are livid. It will take years to repair that mine.”

“Better than having a bunch of hostages die,” you grunt.

“They know.” She sits up and rests her hand on your forehead. “Now, sister, sleep some more. Rest all your cares away,” she says warmly. “You won. Enjoy some peace and comfort before you begin the trek home.”

>>36907724What's Suns deal anyway? He's got an infinite lifespan due to some weirdness with his soul and the Well, and is like a million times stronger than the average mage on the magic power scale. Does he ever cap out in power or will he just keep getting stronger forever?

>>36908041He himself doesn't quite know how it happened, but there seems to be a sort of positive feedback loop between him and the Well. The more magic power he gains, the longer his life becomes, and the longer he lives, the more power he has.

The Pantheon has studied him and determined that it was caused by a peculiar mental defect he possesses as a result of injury, not by a deliberate act. That, and he already had unprecedented magical power, and a Herald parent. It was a one-in-a-trillion chance.